


morosoph.

by wrenwinged



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Other, Random & Short, brumm/grimm if you squint, nightmare king grimm shows up but only in reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:38:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenwinged/pseuds/wrenwinged
Summary: The Ritual draws near. It must, as all other things, come to an end.He must come to an end.
Relationships: Brumm & Grimm (Hollow Knight), Divine & Grimm (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	morosoph.

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by a [piece of art](https://rukafais.tumblr.com/post/183842477786/this-is-a-fun-ship-because-grimm-and-brumm-being) drawn by rukafais on tumblr! 
> 
> this is just another short drabble i wrote up while thinking about grumm, while also not having the energy to make a proper fic.

_morosoph; a learned fool, one who puts up a pretense of learned knowledge or wisdom._

***

Brumm is concerned. 

He doesn’t show it very well, of course, behind a mask of Grimm’s making and one of his own, beneath that, but Brumm is concerned, bordering on afraid. When prompted, he only responds with soft grumbles, or nothing at all, but Grimm can see it in the way his fingers skip a beat on their buttons, the way his accordion groans out of tune for a second or so. 

The Ritual draws near. It must, as all other things, come to an end.

He must come to an end.

“What will happen?” Brumm’s voice is soft, but in the silence following the impromptu end of his song, it is all Grimm can hear. His own fingers still upon the organ, claws glinting against polished white.

“I will be reborn,” says the musician simply, looking down at the Child, nestled in its own wings upon his lap. It stirs slightly, trembling through the effort, before settling, as an unoccupied arm unfolds from his side and a hand rests upon its back.

Brumm does not reply. Grimm does not expect him to.

_It won’t be the same_ goes unsaid and undebated.

***

The Master inside is restless. Grimm feels it as soon as his feet touch hard-packed soil beyond the tent floor, as he steps outside to see where the Troupe has been summoned. A small, tiny town stands just yards away, their own lights a soft eggshell white in pearly contrast to the Troupe’s scarlet flames. 

He’s been here before, many, many, many incarnations ago, perhaps one of the first, if not as the Master himself; he holds all the memories of those before him, but now they are jumbled and mixed in, and it can be hard to make sense of them. Regardless, though, he has been here before, and He is not happy to be back.

“Where are we?” 

This time it is Divine who asks it, her own voice a gentle kind of gravel, loose rocks in the earth below. Her curiosity is an idle one, not born of worry or fear but of the carelessness of a leaf in a pond, simply floating where the tide wills it. 

“A land of tragedy,” he responds after a moment, in a voice decidedly not his own, and yet too close to be anyone else’s. Divine says nothing, simply retreating back into her own tent. That is all that needs to be said. There is work to be done.

***

“Are you angry with me?”

There’s a strange kind of knot in Grimm’s throat as he regards his accompanist, accordion left in his tent as it had been for the past several days. 

“No,” he says after a long moment, expression saddened, if nothing else. “I could never be angry with you, my dear musician. I know your intentions. You thought only of me, not of yourself, nor the Heart, how could I be angry?”

“. . . Mmrm,” comes Brumm’s taciturn reply, as he looks down, feeling guilty for a whole new reason now. “What happens now?”

“We move on.” Grimm sighs wearily. This Ritual was a failure, that’s all there is to it. It was never meant to be, perhaps, or perhaps Brumm’s devotion was so strong that it diverted the path of the gods; either way, it is time they leave. “We find another town, and try again another time.”

At least, so he assumes. He’s never failed a Ritual before, not as far as his memory recall stretches, but the Heart’s embers are not yet cooled, and he can go a little further, a little longer, do a little bit more. 

For Brumm.

The King inside him grows idle once more as their presence leaves that dreary little village.


End file.
